Pride of the West
by Jenise
Summary: I know that no one will even glance at this story, because it contains the word BAND, but please give it a try.its from my heart, and its my true story of one of the greatest years in my life.
1. Summer

My Marching Band Story  
  
(A/N): This is my story of a wonderful and difficult year in my life. My marching story. I don't think I really have to write a disclaimer, because a marching band belongs to no one. It takes a group of spirited and confident members to make a band great, and it think they are all worth writing about. And I know that many people won't read this, won't even give it a chance, but I'm writing this story from my heart, my story of great accomplishments, great friends, and a great band.  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*- *-*-*-*-* Chapter 1- Summer  
  
I didn't want to be there. I had hated band since I had started it. My mom happened to be a band teacher though, so she forced my unwilling self into. All my band teachers before had been. . . what's a good word for it? Perhaps. . . not fun. This would be my last year in band, and then I would be free forever. My mother had said that after my freshman year of marching band, I would be able to quit if I wanted.  
  
I am a trombonist. Not a tromBONER, a trombonist!!! I began as flute, but in 7th grade, I was convinced to switch to trombone, since they were needed, and flutes are overly numerous.  
  
So that fateful day, I walked into school, in the middle of MY summer, with my trombone case. My "I don't care" face was set, and I was determined not to like band. My brother had always said it was stupid, and I always looked up to him. I couldn't believe that some no- name director would pull kids out of summer and vacations just to play some dumb instruments and march around a field like a gay parade. It was pointless.  
  
Following all the other arriving people, I found my way to the band room. I had absolutely NO idea what to do from there. So ,I basically just stood there next to my case, keeping on my teenage no-care face. I hated it. An older member of the band came and asked what section I was in. I told him I played trombone, and he pointed me to my section. I walked over there, and immediately, I had friends. I found my old buddy from last year, Phillip. I hadn't seen him since 8th grade, and I was happy to be with him again. Everyone else, complete strangers, were all so kind to me. Ashley was so pretty it was inspiring. Matt and Hubler had enough knowledge in their heads about out instrument to fill a couple books. Nicole was so much fun. Heather was sweet and so welcoming. Katie was bright and smiling. And Jen and Tim. They are the most random people you will ever meet. They could cheer up a tomb with their jokes and casualness. Those two were so comfortable with who they were. Jen made the section so wonderful to be a part of with her attitude that never ceased to amaze me.  
  
I took out my trombone (which was rental from American Music) and blew a few notes to get warmed up. I trailed everyone else outside, wondering why they needed water bottles and sunglasses. When I stepped outside I knew. It was still summer, in Arizona. They sun would be going down in a couple of hours, which meant it was the hottest part of the day. My group taught me how to stand at attention, trombone positions for marching, and so on. Then everyone was commanded to line up in a block. I stood there clueless. I had no idea what my conductor wanted me to do. Luckily, Nicole and Ashley helped me out. I stood in line, listening to a metronome, and trying to keep my feet in step. I was really bad at this whole marching thing. The seniors had to constantly help me find the beat. We weren't even playing music yet! I had no idea how I was going to survive. My feet didn't like being walked by a beat, and my arms grew tired of holding my trombone up.  
  
At breaks, I would wander around aimlessly, not sure where I belonged. I didn't know if old friends would accept me, and I wasn't sure how to make new ones. I mostly just stayed with my section. They were kind and fun to be around. I had no doubt that the trombone group would be the most fun. I watched everyone drink their water, and my throat would clench. The heat was overwhelming. It burned the asphalt we practiced on and blurry streaks came up from the ground. I could barely believe that we would be out here on every Tuesday in the broiling heat. It sounded so retarded and pointless. As my understanding went, we only performed in football shows, in which nobody is even watching us anyway! All this sweat for the pigs they call football players! I never even realized how big THIS season was. My first season was going to be long, since we were participating in the Fiesta Bowl Championship. But I did not know all of this. I stood, uncomplaining, over the street, begging the sun to go down or play hide and seek with some clouds.  
  
Finally, out director, Mr. D would give us a break, and tell us all to meet up in the auditorium. At this point, I was thinking that the theater meant seats, where we could sit down and play our music. But. . . I was wrong. We got to stand up as we played! My arms were already hurting, and I got to hold up a ten-pound instrument even longer. I shouldn't be complaining though, at least I don't play tuba. Mr. D (in which I will sometimes just call 'D') handed out our music. It was called "Movement 1". Now I am thinking '. . . how. . .original. . .' . This was beyond me. And the music was boring! I couldn't believe that my only year in high school marching band was going to be spent playing classical music. They called it Copland; I called it Crapland. It was lame! My year was going to be wasted on dumb music. I thought we would have cool music, like from a movie or something. After we rehearsed it for awhile, they brought the drums in, and then it sounded even worse. It seemed like. . . a heavy metal drummers banging to classical music. No way would this band of 200 members amount to anything. I kept telling my mom that this idea of band was mental, and how I thought that I should be able to back out of it. But it was final. She wasn't giving in. I had to be in this brainless group of so called musicians.  
  
So every week, I went to these rehearsals, (not without complaint) but I went. And every time I went, I would come home exhausted. My feet were making a little progress, I could usually march to the beat. But I still couldn't care less. I hated band! Just like I knew I would! I kept telling my mom, that I hated this music thing. That I always had and always would, regardless of what she said or did.  
  
Band camp would be coming up soon. I dreaded it. I had seen those movies with all those storied about band camp. You know the ones I'm talking about. American Pie frightened me. I didn't want to go. I kept telling my mom. I begged and prayed so I wouldn't have to leave. It was still summer! Whatever happened to fun and vacation and mall and friends? I wanted a normal summer, not a band-geek-athon. I was still determined to hate it. I just wasn't a "bandy". If my mom could have excepted that, I would've been of the band hook years ago. I wanted freedom. 


	2. Band Camp

Chapter 2- Band Camp  
I was to leave in the morning. I was afraid. Although I was in a room with the group of friendly trombone girls, I didn't want to go. I heard horrible stories about marching 8 hours a day. And I had to leave in the morning.  
  
So, to take my mind off of the irritable thought of band, I turned on my computer, and went online, my sanctuary. I surfed the web and had fun. I chatted with friends who had better luck than I and were attending a different high school.  
  
The high school was new, and I mean brand new. My 8th grade friends, who were also in band, went there. They didn't have all these dumb rehearsals and no band camp! They didn't even have a real marching band. Since it was new, they only allowed freshman and sophomores in, which meant there was no varsity football team, thus meaning no marching band. But no, I was stuck at my own high school. Bored to death in sweat and sun.  
  
I started talking to a friend in band from last year who was attending the same school as I, and she was in band. Heather played trumpet for marching season. It was hard thinking of her as a trumpet since last year she played oboe. She revealed to me that she was a bit excited about camp the next morning. I was NOT excited! No way no how! I didn't want to go. I didn't want to even give it chance!  
  
Ok, ok. Perhaps I was a little, tiny, sliver of a bit excited. I knew I was gonna hate it, but I thought that maybe I could give it a chance. I just would put on my magical "I don't care" face, and then I wouldn't. I would immune to the band geeks attitude, and could hate being there with a passion. The spell would have no effect on me! So the next morning I woke up and grabbed my stuff. My mom drove me to school. I was loaded down with a suitcase bag thing, a sleeping bag, and my trombone. Oh, how I envied those piccolos. Their instruments would fit in their pockets. But I just had to play the trombone. So I put all my stuff in the loading pile. I went and stood in the big mob of students to get on the small, cramped, sticky, smelly school buses. I was loathing band camp already.  
  
I looked around aimlessly and soon found myself talking to Michelle, a friend from all the way back in 6th grade. I hadn't really talked much to her in 7th and 8th grade, and here I was talking to her and her friend, who introduced herself as "Lauren". And old friends, Jessa and Carina, were there as well. So, I was thinking that now I had someone to sit on the bus with. I would not be all alone. We gossiped and walked on to the bus. But unfortunately, the bus was so crowded, and only the first two seats were wide open. So, naturally, Michelle and Lauren grabbed the first seat. And Jessa and Carina seized the second seat. I looked around, glancing at nearby seats, and one was open. The guy had dirty blonde hair, but I would call it more brown, and blue eyes. At this point, I was thinking, ' No way! I am not sitting with this geek of a loser!' And yet, I had no choice. With my most confident voice, "Is this seat taken?" I waited for a response. Once I was cleared, I took a seat. I tried to mainly just do my own thing. I pulled out my Inu Yasha book, and read. How I love Inu Yasha. . . *sigh*  
  
ANYWAYS. . . After I had finished the book, he asked to see it, and said how he wasn't caught up on that series. So. . . we kinda began talking. When it came time to get out of the bus for lunch, I wondered where he was going. But I stayed with my girl fiends and walked to Subway. Stupid skinny people thinking they're fat. I HATE Subway with a passion. So we walked all the way over there. Then they all decided to go to Arby's instead, since the line was too long at Subway. So we walk all the way back to around the buses. And what do you know? The line is long there too! I wasn't hungry then, so it didn't matter where we went to me. I waited in line with Michelle, Lauren, Jessa and Carina.  
  
Only minutes later, Lauren decided that she really wanted Subway. And who was the lucky one to go back with her? Me! But like I said, it didn't matter to me because I just wanted to get a drink, so I went. And that was the first beginning of our friendship. We got on the bus and I must of talked that boy's ear off. If I were he, I would've been praising the Lord when I got off that bus at camp.  
  
All of us took our bags and instruments to our cabins and settled in. We weren't going to start marching until after dinner, so we had some free time. I hung around my room and maybe walked around my cabin, "Aspen". I hated this place already. We had gotten the schedules and I was afraid. We were marching basically all day! Not only was this pointless, but it was a pain! I hated marching, and so did my feet. My only up-look to this tedious training was the thought of (1) getting away from my parents and (2) losing weight. I had hopes that the food would be good.  
  
If only my hopes were answered. The 'food' was. . .um.. . . disturbing. The way the vegetables stuck together was just not right. I don't know if the 'meat' was really meat. I wasn't sure of anything. Thank goodness they had OK water. I would've gone insane. Then the marching began. Hours and hours of unending torture! We would march, then set, then march, then set, then march and set!!! We would barely get any breaks! And they all seemed to short. You had to wait in line for water or Gatorade, and by the time it was your turn, the break would be over! Over and over we marched. The dreadful and bright sun leisurely sank below the horizon. I was definitely tired enough to go straight to my bed, and fall asleep. And yet, there was more to come. Much, much more. We headed inside, to our cabins. I got my pajamas and shower needs out, and settled in my bed. Only then was I informed that we were to go inside for a music rehearsal. I was in agony. We hadn't played while we marched, thank goodness since I was not yet that skilled.  
  
So we started to play that retarded old people music. Stupid classical. I wanted to do a cool show! Something that would be catchy and the audience would like. Not Crapland. Why me? The music sounded awful. Well, I take that back. The first 10 measures sounded ok. Then it was a mess. You couldn't tell the melody. I moved my trombone slide back and forth with my aching arms. Everyone else had it easy, moving merely their fingers. My arms would hurt tomorrow. I would be so sore, and still I would have to march, from dawn until dusk! I definitely hated this.  
  
I dreamed about never coming back to this forsaken place. This was truly the worst trip I had ever been on. And I have been a lot of places. Stupid relatives not living by me. *shudder*  
  
Early morning rise and shine. The radio softly awakened me out of my slumber. I was used to sleeping in, and this was killing me. I had fallen asleep late, listening to the people in my room gossip and complain about some guy named Matt. I was clueless, but it was nice listening in. So, I took my shower in a very gross and unsanitary bathroom which was stained with the smell of dirt and moldy soap. And I got dressed and reported for breakfast.  
  
It was a revolting selection of so-called food. They had this burnt charcoal they called bacon. And a couple choices of rotten fruit that made my stomach turn. Watery eggs and sausage seemed splattered on the tables. It made me want to puke. Thus, once again I sat down to a glass of water and a couple crumbs.  
  
And then my first full day of band camp began. An endless array of marching practices, sectionals, larger sectionals, and rehearsals. This day would never end! The morning marching seemed incredibly difficult. The early sun beat down on everyone's back and turned their faces red and dark. I thought I never would survive. I wanted to run away. I could hike to Prescot! Then I could hitchhike a ride back to Glendale! I could easily enjoy the rest of my summer like a regular teenager. If only. I talked with the guy from the bus a bit. His name is Chris, by the way. And I talked with Lauren and Michelle as well. Lauren and I seemed to get along really well. We would walk places together during out limited free time. I would eat with her and my other freshman friends during meals. Although there was food, I always seemed to be hungry, since much of the dishes were uneatable.  
  
Everywhere I went, I had to hold my instrument steady. My arms were hurting so awfully. I was introduced to the trombone section leader, Mike. He seemed fun and we got along. I called him Mr. Mike, as a joke. It seems silly, but it was fun. The rest of the group had stalked about him and said something about the military and him, so I thought it would be humorous to call him Mr. and Sir. Finally the end of the day would come. And we awake the next morning to do the same thing all over again. Sure we had fun stuff planned. There was a pool party, which I didn't attend. I didn't like being seen in a bathing suit.  
  
Then, there was a 'Senior farewell' something or other. Basically, the seniors would stand up and say what they remember and love about band. I was touched that so many loved it. They were crying and hugging each other, and I was amazed at the unity and togetherness this group had. Everyone was here to do the same thing. Everyone said their thank-you's to the band director and color guard teacher. I had never really gotten to speak much to 'D'. And I had never talked to Miss LaDuca. But everyone seemed to love this band. I thought about what I would say at my senior farewell. I would say how much I hate band and how everyone in it sucks. It didn't really matter what I thought since I wasn't going to have a 'farewell' thing anyway. This would be my last and only year in marching band.  
  
The day before the last was Section dress-alike day. And the creativity of the trombone section, was all of us being crayons. Nicole and Ashley had slaved away making us each a different color crayon shirt, which looked amazing. We each had our own pointy hats. And I, as the smallest in the section, was drowning in my crayon shirt. It fell to my thighs, and others said I looked cute. I do think that we should of won. Our shirts were amazing, and our idea was by far the best. But no! The stupid piccolos had to win! No offense, but their shirts were pretty dumb and uncreative. They said "Picc Chics" and they were all wearing grass skirts. Pretty boring. I have no idea why they won. Even the drum majors were better than them. The three conductors for our band wore kilts. Although seeing Matt, the only male drum major, in a skirt was *cough* disturbing.  
  
And before I knew it, I was happily headed home. I was sitting with Chris again, talking his ear off, again. I can't help it if I'm a loud mouth! Lauren and I had become pretty good friends. I thought back on the last days of band camp, and overall it wasn't so bad. I had some friends to cheer me up through it, and I lost almost 10 pounds! Yay! Wait. . .No! I HATE BAND!!! NO WAY WAS I STARTING TO ENJOY IT!  
(A/N): hey! The truth about Band Camp comes out! Ahhhhh!!! My story has just begun. It was a long, long season. . .  
  
~Jen 


	3. First Competition: NAU

Chapter 3- First competition: NAU  
(A/N): hey! Glad to se you are still here! still reading! Go you! Well, this is the band's first competition. *sigh* the memories. . .  
  
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Well, school had officially begun. And this year, it was high school. It was SO incredibly different than my middle school. Kids wore their hair every way you could imagine it. And the clothes! It definitely made the different groups and societies clear. You had the Goths, as always. The Punks, the Preppies, the middle class, everything! It struck me in awe. My first week was gonna be fun. . . and interesting.  
  
Ok, everyone always gets lost on the first day of school, right? Back me up here. It was only once. How was I supposed to know where the cafeteria was? Luckily, I had sophomore friends to help me. She is such a cool friend! I have known her as long as I can remember. Amy. She is sweet, nice, understanding, cool, and has values. ( you all know her as Abby- Kitty) She helped me out, and gave me a boost on to my feet. And she helped me find the cafeteria! Yay! Go Amy! ANYWAYS. . .  
  
And we were going to have band everyday. I was screaming. I had no real close friends in band with me, and it didn't look like I would make any. Sure, I had people I knew, but no one to really hang with. But that all changed when Lauren and I discovered that we had 3 classes together. We were instant friends, and did everything together.  
  
So, while high school was going great - I actually had a place in society- band rehearsals continued. And it had never been this bad. We had early morning practice. Mondays, Thursdays, and Fridays were horrible. I woke up a 4:30 or 5 am to get ready to march. And not only was getting up hard for me, the field was always muddy! It was like walking in filth! My Etnies were brown from dirt, and those were my favorite shoes! The cost me, like 80 bucks! I mean, hello? Band shouldn't ruin your shoes like it ruins your life.  
  
Not only were there morning rehearsals, there was a late rehearsal on Tuesdays! Plus sectionals after school on Wednesday! My life had been stolen! At least before band I could sit home and relax. I wouldn't be deprived of a summer. My freedom had been given up for "Set! Ready, go! 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8! Ok, reset!" I was always busy and never had time for my old friends, whom I missed terribly. Basically, my schedule went like this:  
  
Monday- Early morning rehearsal @ 6:30 a.m.  
  
Tuesday- Late night rehearsal from 6-9 p.m.  
  
Wednesday- Brass sectional after school till 3:30  
  
Thursday- Early morning rehearsal  
  
Friday- Early morning rehearsal  
Not fun. Why did I have to be the daughter of a band teacher? This was only the rehearsal schedule. We had football games on Friday nights, taking away my day to go to the movies. I was glad football hadn't started yet though. And I was told we were going to have some competitions on Saturdays. How could D be doing this to us? Didn't he understand that we had things going on outside of band? Why did he want us to dedicate our lives to 'The Pride of the West"? But. . . I must say, for a crazy musician, he is awesome! I had never really talked to him, but when I did, I knew this guy was the perfect band director. He knew when to be serious, and he knew when to be silly. He could make us laugh and read our minds. He knew when we were tired. . .and he would give us a WHOLE 5 minutes to get water. Ain't he generous? Ok, really, they would turn out to be fifteen minutes, but hey, I was trying to complain. Well, enough nagging.  
  
I started to look forward to practices, but not for BAND! It was because. . . well, you remember the guy on the bus, Chris? Yeah. . . I kinda-sorta-just a little bit of a sliver started. . .um. . .crushing? Yup. I would go to band practices with a smile so I could flirt. And, well, it was practicing is fun when you are with all your friends. But I still hated band! You got that? HATED!  
  
What do you know? A competition was coming up. The band was going up to NAU (Northern Arizona University) to perform. Lauren and I were flipping out. We would get to sit next to each other on the bus ride there. And on the way back, I was asked to sit next to a sophomore named Jeff. Now, I hadn't heard all the gossip about this guy, or I would never of agreed to sit next to him. He was sweet and cool. But then, Lauren told me news from the band kids. Suddenly, I did NOT want to sit next to him. I was afraid to be within a ten mile radius of him in the dark. And as sweet as he is, I didn't want to take any chances. So I would sit next to Lauren on the way back as well. And the bus ride there was great! Lauren and I attempted to paint our nails a really, really pretty shiny color. And we made a collage for our note-binder. It was great. We talked and laughed, shared gossip and giggled. Now, what was really scary, is what everyone told the wee little freshmen before the trip. They made the dome ( where the football field was inside) seem huge. I was afraid that it would be like being inside a mountain. And, Mr. D kept warning us to watch the drum major, because the acoustics were so bad. I really didn't want to mess up on our first show, so I was really afraid. I knew that I would get lost in the music, blow a wrong note, and because of me, the whole band would go haywire and get the worst rating ever. So by 'warning' us, they made me or us feel nervous.  
  
And being nervous is really bad, because then you forget moves and music.  
  
And yet, all these "bewares" helped. When I walked into the performance arena, I was suddenly not frightened at all. It wasn't as big as I had seen it in my thoughts. While I had been imagining a dome as big as the Epicot Center in Florida, it was really tiny. So I was really relieved. My nerves stopped racing around in my stomach and heart, and I could breathe. I sighed with relief, and got in my place to begin the show.  
  
We were called to attention, and I screamed "RIDGE!" at the top of my lungs. The bass clarinets began to play and I heard "Appalachian Springs" come from the flutes and clarinets. And I lifted my horn and played. Somehow, now the music seemed beautiful and exciting. We had fast parts hart throbbing parts, then we would shift to slow, peaceful parts. Our entire second movement was slow, it was Dvorak's "New World Symphony". The soft tube solo sounded so warm and sad. Then BOOM! We would be on the third movement, the fast and famous "Red Pony". It was majestic and strong. Wait . . .why was I liking this music? It's Crapland!!! No way was this music cool. It was dumb band music, nothing more. Before I knew it, I snapped my trombone down and it was over. My heart was pounding and sweat rested on my brow. I had done it. We had done it. By working together, we performed and you know what? I felt great! I had not messed up at all . . .I guess those practices paid off. We marched off the field. I had a huge grin on my face as they took a picture of the whole band. Then all of us sat down with eager faces to learn what rating we were to be given. My brain pulsated as they began announcing the scores. And finally, the moment. I held my breath, and shut my eyes tightly, praying to get a good score.  
  
We got a "Superior With Distinction". I screamed.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*- *-*-*-*-*- (A/N): hey! Yay! Superior with distinction! That's the highest rating for all you who aren't band geeks. I was so proud. Our first competition.there were many more to come. Well, more should be up soon! PLEASE REVIEW!!!! Please???? ~Jen 


	4. Football Games

Chapter 4: Football Games  
  
(A/N): hey! I'm back! Thanks for all the reviews. Oh! We all yell "RIDGE" because its for our attention thingy. We are the Mountain Ridge High School Band, so we scream RIDGE when called to attention. Just ta let ya know. And so the games begin. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*- *-*-*-*-*-  
  
Chapter 4  
  
Ok, so I was a LITTLE excited about getting a "Superior With Distinction". Key word being a LITTLE. I still hated band. And what I hated most was those stupid morning rehearsals! Who in their right mind would be in this for dumb thing longer than they had to? I mean, waking up early three mornings of the week sucks! And I mean early. We had to be on the field, ready to go at 6:15. That's way too early for me! The only thing fun was being with some of the 'bandies'.  
  
And coming up was my first football game. Oh my gosh! I would be ecstatic and overjoyed! Complete bliss and an angel in heaven . I would be going crazy and screaming as loud as the cheerleaders! I would jump up and down in the stands and be hyper and thrilled . . . If I didn't HATE football. Football is lame and is basically a group of ugly fat hogs chasing and beating each other up to get their hands on some dumb pigskin. It is a pointless and dreary sport that really requires no skill. Unlike marching. Marching takes a lot of skill, unlike pig-ball. We have to stay in step, play, and remember where to march next. Now that it a sport . . .I mean . . .I hate band?  
So everybody is talking about this 'homecoming' game. It's going to be my first football game that I am performing at. Me? Nervous? No way! It was just a football game. No big deal. It wouldn't have a lot of people there, who would come out to see a high school football game?  
  
As we marched on to the field, I gasped in awe at all the people. But was I nervous? Not one bit. I had performed before, and nobody would notice if I messed up. The marching band seems like a long line of lemmings. Each of us looks identical. There was no way that anyone could single one of us out. We were one.  
  
I shook my head, determined to not think I was one of them . . .a bandie. We marched around the track. The crowds were cheering, for us perhaps. The field was a deep green and thirsted for the first football game of the season to begin. The sun streaked across the sky, making reds and yellows merge with a dark navy blue. In the east, the first stars were coming out, adding to the excitement of Homecoming Game.  
  
We marched out onto the field, in the line-up we had practiced. We got ready to play "When you Wish Upon a Star" during the crowning of Homecoming Court. I had not practiced this song, and so I had no idea what I was doing. Luckily, the rest of the band seemed to of memorized their part. I gave a sigh of relief as the final Queen and King were announced. We were done with pre-game. The band turned off, and marched off the field. Mouth open in awe, I followed my fellow trombonists up to our high seats in the stands. I looked around the game zone while I waited for the rest of the band to reach their seats. Yelling, screaming, and laughing filled my ears and echoed across the stadium. The huge lights beamed down upon the grass, making each blade shine. As percussion filed in, we sat down and removed our hats. How I hated those evil conductor hats. Not only did they look incredibly stupid, they hurt! And as if the pain while wearing them wasn't enough, they left a huge line across your forehead! All of us would point at each other, laughing at the reminisce of dorky helmets. I usually got a horrible stripe across my head, which showed clearly for the world to see. I rubbed it hard, attempting to make it vanish, but nothing seemed to make the loser sign disappear.  
  
The completely pointless game began. The retards down on the field started chasing after their pigskin. Can you say LAME? Every so often we would play a pep tune such as "Tuba Cadence" or " Batman". Then whenever we scored a touchdown or whatever, we were forced to play the fight song. I hate that song so much. And unfortunately, as I would be figuring out, we had a winning team. That meant we would be playing the vile fight song over and over again. Before I knew it, I had that darn song written to memory.  
  
Then, as second quarter reached the half way point, we began to move off the stands. I hopped down the steps and followed the other band members to warm up. All of us divided into sections; I went with the brass. We played a scales or two, and went over some of the hard parts of our show. My arms strained to hold up my instrument. Mike, my section leader, continuously had to remind me to keep my instrument up. I argued, saying that I was conserving energy for the show. He said to hold it up anyway. I sighed in disappointment, and forced my trombone up. Obviously my arms had not grown enough muscle to support my bone for long. My arms quickly grew restless. They seemed to have little spasms. Shivers ran down my spine, and sweat clung to the back of my neck as my arms throbbed with pain.  
  
But before I knew it, I put my instrument down, and warm-up time was over. I felt relieved to be able to rest my arms. I could relax. I breathed slowly. . .then I realized that now warm-up was over, it was time to perform. I wasn't really nervous, but the thought of being forced to keep up my instrument for even longer, made me groan. I got in line, and began to march out onto the field.  
  
Carefully, I moved into my exact position for the opening movement. I watched as the drum majors gave their salute and walked up to the podium. I drew a long breath in, and reminded myself to keep breathing. The lights overhead were almost directly in my eyes. The slow hum of the bass clarinets signaled my cue to move to the right, to get in the next formation. I went over my first notes in my head for what seemed mere seconds, and somehow hours at the same time. I brought the horn to my mouth and let my lips buzz to the music as my hands worked the slide. My eyes darted from the drum major to the crowd and back again. Everyone had their eyes on us. I gave my last majestic style tone, and got ready to move.  
  
Swiftly, I followed the line of bass clarinets and trombones as the tempo suddenly increased. I zigzagged across the field. As we got to the greatest part in "Appalachian Springs", I got out of step! We were moving at half time, or every other beat. I quickly tried to fix the problem, staring at everybody else's moving feet. I looked forward, but flutes were zooming ahead, merging with the trumpets. I looked down and over, and rapidly changed my feet. I continued playing, mentally sighing with relief. The second movement began. How I hated this song. Actually, the song was kinda pretty, but hafting to march to it took forever! It was sooooo slow! "New World Symphony" took so much time. We slowly marched, forming shape after shape. I waited and waited for the last movement to come.  
  
And soon it did. The drums speed up and we followed their beat. The "Red Pony Suite" was a really cool song . . .I mean . . .for classical. I just liked the change in tempo. I moved all around the field, right left, forwards, and backwards. As I did the final moves, sweat trickled down my face. I blasted the last note, and snapped my trombone down. We finished. The crowd went wild.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*- *-*-*-*-*- (A/N):ok, so it's a little short, but it's late and I am tired . . .so please review! Tell me what you think! Please? I want more reviews! That's the whole reason I put this things out!  
  
~Jen 


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